


Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow Again

by pigeon_hold



Series: Write Me Down from the Heavens, Read Me Up from Hell [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Cries, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Denial of Feelings, Dickwheelie's Letter Post, Emotions Like Those of the 19th Century, Lots of sitting at tables and not a ton of eating, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeon_hold/pseuds/pigeon_hold
Summary: Aziraphale was trying his best to stay away from prophecies for the time being, he'd once loved the attempts but after the near end, well, he figured maybe he'd indulge in a more romantic stretch of literature. Perhaps he should be embarrassed, but all he can take from it is a date and a sudden need to get his best friend's signature.





	Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow Again

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This was very much inspired by Dickwheelie's Letter Post on Tumblr! If you happen to like this fic please go check out there original post and the host of fanfics inspired by it! (She's keeping a list!) Her tumblr is dickwheelie and the link should be in the bio! 
> 
> Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy!

There’s a lot you learn over six thousand years, and even more you learn to let go of. Embarrassment being a big one. Hard to get embarrassed with six thousand years’ worth of time on the back burner. Aziraphale was currently, absolutely and entirely, embarrassed.

You see, it had been a normal day. A perfectly normal day, as many of them had been so far after the rest of their lives had started, spent in his book shop. He’d been going through a few books that had come in recently, older pieces ranging on topics from astronomy to love and had nearly every kind of essay in between. Aziraphale was rather privy to staying away from prophecies, at least for a little while, and had taken to a more romantic stretch of literature.

It was in one of these new collections that Aziraphale found _them_. No, not the them, and certainly not the Them, but _them._ It was a history book, he had thought, focusing on the queer hearts that had come and gone through out the ages. There was a rather large section, fifty years’ worth of a section, made entirely up of old, unsigned letters.

He had to admit he’d felt quite a range of emotion reading through each page; sympathy and sadness, giddiness and a somber low ache, frustration and love, it all wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

There was just one thing that he couldn’t quite shake after his first read through, a date. The date of the very last letter. He swore it sounded familiar but his memory was tricky to sort through at the best of times so he let it lay and knew it would come to him eventually.

Now, however, as he sat across from Crowley it seemed eventually had come. He had to set his cup down rather unceremoniously to keep it from slipping out of his grasp, at the very least not making a mess as he did so. He did manage to slip up enough that his friend- Were they just friends now? Partner- Nope worse. Compatriot rose, what Aziraphale had always known to be, a perfectly arched brow over the crest of his glasses.

“Everything alright, Angel?” And suddenly he could hear them, the letters, all addressed to his angel. Embarrassment for so many things rolled up his spine, but he forced himself still.

“Ah, yes. My apologies, everything is tickety-boo.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, where for the love of absolutely everything did you pick that phrase up? I have literally never heard another soul ever let those words lose upon the earth aside from you.”

“India, I believe. Nineteen thirties is where abouts it became popular but you know me, always a tad late to the party.” Crowley let out a string of consonants in reply, smiling as he lounged back.

“Ah, that explains it then. I missed it.” Aziraphale felt his throat grow tight and quickly took a sip of his drink before placing it more carefully back down.

“Right. Your not quite century long nap.” He blinked up at the other and fidgeted with a leftover napkin, “You wouldn’t happen to remember when about that started, would you?” Crowley, somehow, sat back even farther and gave his face a quick once over with his hand.

“Urm… I want to say it was shortly after the holy water incident.” Crowley said into his palm before he moved to scratch the back of his head and shot a look Aziraphale’s way that managed to look guilty even with his glasses on. The angel on the other hand was a bit too busy doing calculations to do much more than nod. “Thank you. By the way, for that. Managed to save my skin well enough.”

Aziraphale just blinked after him, setting down one thought to pick up another quite rapidly.

“Oh! The. Yes, of course dear. My apologies on the hundred odd year wait. I just… Well, there was a lot I had to think about and a great deal more I feared.”

He stumbled to collect his thoughts, wanting to in some way match what he had read, even if he wasn’t quite sure if he was truly in the authors presence yet. His confidence blossoming despite himself.

“I hadn’t been able to say it then but… I missed you Crowley.” He tilted his head and let a small sad smile take over his features. “I missed you and it took so much to come to terms with the fact that there would ever even be the chance of an earth without you on it or eternity without you in it.”

“Angel- ”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to vocalize that Crowley, say what I mean, how much _you_ mean to me.”

“ ‘s Fine.” He said, certainly not digging tears from the backs of his eyelids. Nope, none of that here. Just gross old eye boogies, he was a nasty demon who was not nice and certainly didn’t cry over nice things said to him in public.

Stars he was glad for his glasses.

“It’s not.” Aziraphale laughed, gentle and fond. “But at the very least I can say it now, you know me, always late to the party.”

At the smile he received, Aziraphale was sure of a number of things. Almost.

He didn’t think of it until the check came but the idea nearly knocked him from his seat.

“Crowley, could I ask something odd of you?” When he got a hum in reply, he pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. “Would you sign this?”

This earned another arched brow from across the table.

“What is it?”

“Just your signature dear, nothing more, nothing less.” Crowley took the paper and gave it a good once over before casting a look to Aziraphale and shrugging. He signed with the same flourish he’d used on the bill before handing it back.

“Whatever nefarious plot you’ve got going on angel, you better at least give me a heads up on. You know I love a good plotting.” Aziraphale just smiled knowingly, tucking his scrap of paper away for safe keeping.

“Nothing so nefarious dear. But I will.”

-

He was quick home that night and dove right back in at the beginning. He took notes in a separate notebook, marked pages with sticky tags, and half near memorized every line. It took days as he went over it again and again, and finally on his fourth or possibly fifth go around he was sure.

The moment he was he took to the last letter and pulled his scrap of paper from his pocket, placing Crowley’s signature beneath the close.

His throat constricted and had to quickly blink back the sting of tears.

It fit.

Not only did it fit but the handwriting… The handwriting was too like be coincidence. It was finally all settled into place. Crowley, his Crowley, had written these letters to him, to the angel, his angel, Aziraphale. He could imagine him, late at night or early in the morning, hunched over his paper, his pen slithering across the page; he could see him and could feel the waves of love and anguish and dedication laid bare before him.

He hardly managed to sit back before his own damn broke, tears pricking his eyes before making their way in fat lazy lines down his cheeks. Crowley loved… Crowley had… Lord above he couldn’t finish either of those thoughts with out feeling his throat grow tight with a hiccupping sob.

He eventually made his way over to the couch, much better for crying upon, as he let wave after wave of emotion roll over him.

They’d wasted so much time. Oh and all those things he’d said, about them not being friends, and such. His heart roiled. Of course, they were friends, there was scarcely a time they hadn’t been.

And Of course, to some degree he had known that Crowley loved him, just as he had known to some degree that he loved Crowley. No one did what they did, existed how they existed with out some amount of love between them. But this…

Crowley had strung each word specifically for Aziraphale and he couldn’t help but feel as if this was Crowley’s own private galaxy he’d hung especially for his angel. The periods, planets; comma’s, a comets path across the sky. Every I love you was a super nova and every emotion, good, bad, and ugly, filled the void in between.

Crowley, on his own, had created a place for their love to exist.

Aziraphale mourned the time he’d wasted without it.

He was sure he spent hours there, feeling his heartbeat in time with each bout of love he felt, noting the tug and pulse of his wings outside this plane, letting tears come and go freely.

It was hours before he could stand again, wiping the tears from his cheeks with a handkerchief, and making his way to the phone.

It may not have been in his full mind who exactly he was calling before he had answered.

“Angel?” A sleepy voice trudged through the line. “You alright?”

“Ah, Crowley. Apologies my dear, I hadn’t realized the time.” And surely with a look outside it was well into the night.

“ “ll say. It’s two am angel.” There was a grunt of breath. “You didn’t answer me, is everything alright?”

“Yes. Yes, everything is… Well. It’s wonderful actually. I wanted to see if it would be quite possible for you to scurry by the bookshop tomorrow? There’s something I wanted to touch base about, if that’s quite alright.”

“Nnf, Any specific time angel?”

“Whenever you’d like Crowley.”

“O-kay… I’ll give you a ring before I head over.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight Angel, you know you should really invest some time in a proper sleep every now and again.”

“I think I just might. Goodnight Dear.”

-

Crowley did not, in fact, give a ring before he had headed over. He did however finally remember his promise once he’d already blown open and closed the shops doors, wincing as he pulled out his phone and quick dialed the angel.

“I already heard the doors dear; you can just come up.” He heard Aziraphale’s faint voice over the sound of his few wired phones ringing. He quickly clicked his phone off before making his way to the back and up. Despite himself he felt a tad nervous; he’d never been this far into angel’s sanctuary before.

Aziraphale was nervous in his own special way, the fact that Crowley was seeing his space for the first time nagging him as his kitchen table looked straight out of a cooking catalog, pastries, fruits, and breakfast shenanigans spread far and wide and in the center a large bouquet that he was in the middle of debating the size of when Crowley poked his head in.

The red head let out a short whistle, eyebrow arching and a smile stretching over his lips, though his confusion was evident.

“What’s all this?”

“Ah, Breakfast. Thank you for joining me, Crowley.” He said, motioning to the seat across from him. Crowley took the hint and sat, somehow managing to fit right in among the slew of colors that was Aziraphale’s kitchen.

“You made all of this then?” The angel could hardly hold back a snort.

“No, no, dear. I made a quick run down the way. As much as I do love to eat, I’ve not quite got the hang of cooking. And I’d rather not risk burning the shop down again while you’re on your way.” He shot Crowley a sympathetic look before moving a bowl this way and that, trying his best to offer up different options to his Crowley. He was halfway through explaining what was present when he caught Crowley’s eye and cleared his throat, gesturing lamely to the rest of the food on the table.

With a tilt to his head, and much to Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley picked a strawberry from the mountain of food and took a bite. His angel immediately relaxed and gave a small smile, moving to fill up his own plate, though if it was much less than normal neither of them said anything. (Although if one of them thought something about they thought much harder than need be about it.)

A decent way into the sound of forks gently scraping ceramics, Crowley sat a bit straighter and took to his normal lounging.

“So, uh, there was something you wanted to ‘touch base’ about?”

“Oh!” Azirphale pushed his plate in, though Crowley noted he was hardly finished. “Yes, let me. It’s just in the other room.” He stood carefully and as he walked past, just so, let his hand fall on Crowley’s shoulder and squeezed.

Had he stayed he may have noticed a wilting and utterly confused look from his dear, but since he hadn’t that look had been reserved for the door frame who was actually quite sure it was doing a fantastic job of framing the door and such.

His angel was back in a breath with a slew of books in his arms, handing one to Crowley before moving his chair closer and opening the other before laying it on the table. He took a good look over both, shooting a questioning look Zira’s way. A queer history book and handwritten notes… This was about to be some sort of conversation that Crowley was thinking may have been better over booze.

“Just the marked pages in this one dear.” Aziraphale tapped the book in Crowley’s hand gently before moving back to his own space, close but not crowding. With a quick shrug he opened to the first page and skimmed it before flipping to the next.

He quickly flicked back and read the page in whole, brow furrowing and eyes widening behind his lenses. He flipped through page after page of his own writing. His own writing about the Angel sitting across from him. An Angel who had taken notes.

“I, huh, I had bought this book with a number of others. I’m trying to expand past prophecies for the foreseeable future.” Crowley had to spare a glance his way just to catch the flash of pride and apology for that joke. “Well, I had read it before the last time we met, and I hadn’t… Well, I hadn’t realized. But the dates.” He tracked Crowley as the man stood. “The last date in particular. Just before your nap.”

Crowley paced across the small dining space, eyes darting from page to page, until they fell upon the last with his signature tucked neatly into the side. He came to a stop and gingerly moved the scrap back into place before huffing out a weak attempt at a laugh.

“You needed me to sign my letters.” His voice came out softer, weaker, than Aziraphale had thought he’d ever heard it. His head snapped up and he stared after Crowley.

“No. Not really. But I had thought it sure would have looked nice there.” He answered just as quietly. Though with a small laugh he brought his volume up slightly. “I did think I was somewhat clever comparing the handwriting there, just to be sure. It’s only been, what? Nearly two hundred years. Your cursive hasn’t changed that much, Anthony J. Crowley.”

The look he got was near as cold as the ice box, not mean, but empty. Far emptier that the Angel could bear to witness. Aziraphale frowned at that and stood, carefully stepping over to his friend.

“Crowley, Dear, what’s wrong?” He moved to touch his arm but pulled back when Crowley closed the book with a crack.

“These aren’t supposed to exist.” Aziraphale’s blood ran cold in his veins, though he quickly tried to shake it off.

“What do you mean?”

“That they aren’t supposed to exist. Period. End of story. They shouldn’t be in a book, they shouldn’t be on paper, these were supposed to be gone.”

“Gone.”

“Yes, Gone, Aziraphale. Gone.” Aziraphale hadn’t known his name could sting quite like that.

“Ah, I see.” He moved again, softly forward, to take the book back. “Well, I can move it somewhere no one but us could see it, if you’d like.” Crowley, however, stayed stock still, his knuckles turning white with his effort to hold the book. “Crowley?”

“I’m not sure I want us to have it.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, Aziraphale.”

“Is it untrue? Are they all untrue? Is that what it is? Or have your feelings changed? Because that’s okay, that’s all okay! I just-”

“Angel, that’s not-”

“Then what?” He tried not to notice the flowers beginning to droop behind him or how the sink suddenly began to leak or even how the door frame had become slightly unsure of what exactly its job was.

Crowley looked stricken, and with a sudden frustration he reached up and ripped his glasses away, revealing eyes that had narrowed into slits.

“Thesse.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “These were supposed to be for me, and yes they were talking to you, about you, but this was mine. To keep me from exploding. It wasn’t just some book to end up on your shelf.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale frowned and stepped closer, entering the other’s space. “This isn’t just ‘some’ ‘book’-”

“That’s not how air quotes work, Angel.”

“This is you. This is the demon that I couldn’t help but run into without even trying. The person who life tangled so perfectly with mine for six thousand years that we stopped the end of the world. Of course, it’s a book on my shelf Crowley, who else would know to hang a galaxy there? Only you, Crowley, only you.” He took a hold of the book gently, lowering both of their hands. “The fact that these existed at all, now or then, is-” He stepped closer and held Crowley’s gaze like a lifeline, “the single nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t… I can’t just give that up Crowley.

“If your feelings have changed say so, if they were never there say so, but please don’t take this from me, I don’t think I could stand it Crowley.”

They stood there, staring one another down for a long moment, before Crowley dropped his head down, pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s white curls.

“I hate you.”

“You Don’t.” Aziraphale mimicked, a glowing smile taking up residence on his lips. “In fact, if this book has any say, you actually love me very much.” Crowley just let out a groan and went to move but was stopped by his angel’s hand landing on his cheek. “Just in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear Crowley, I love you. I have and will always.” He let his thumb ghost over the snake marking along Crowley’s cheek. “I’ve been a coward, I’ve been a fool, but if it’s all the same to you I’d like to be yours.”

Somewhere in the building a Queen song began to play. Aziraphale just grinned nervously and laughed.

“That was supposed to be closer.” Crowley just huffed a laugh and dropped the book, bringing his hands up to cup his Angel’s cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah, I think I’d like to be yours too.”

There’s a lot you learn in six thousand years. There’s more you learn to let go of. Fear being the hardest. Hard to not be scared with six thousand years on the back burner, could go up in flames at any time.

They stood, knowing tomorrow would be just as beautiful as today. There was no place for fear in the rest of their lives.


End file.
